


Like Minds, Broken

by CanisMajor1234



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light BDSM, M/M, PWP, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Vax and Percy have Problems, but sometime before they left Emon again, idk - Freeform, pls let these boys be happy, set sometime after they left the underdark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 12:10:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10020245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanisMajor1234/pseuds/CanisMajor1234
Summary: Soon, they will leave Greyskull Keep for yet another destination.For now, however, nothing else exists but the two of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is apparently what I write instead of sleeping. I'm not sorry. :3

Percy comes to him late in the evening, head down, eyes a bit uncertain. There’s a tremor in his hands, soot in his hair- spending time tinkering, no doubt, trying to run from the demons that plague him.  Vax tries not to be offended when the gunslinger pauses in his doorway, still unsure. He knows how Percy gets on bad nights, when the shadows seem to creep up the walls and no amount of candles can keep them out. Vax gets nights like those too, and he knows the best way to deal with them is _not alone_.

(Demons plague all of Vox Machina. Such is the nature of their existence. They learned long ago never to ask and never to offer.)

If Vex notices that her brother is having visitors (a visitor), she doesn’t poke her head out to be certain. Vax is grateful for that much. Despite the trust that has grown over the course of their traveling, Percy is still hesitant of the sharp-eyed rogue and her hulking bear companion- thinking he has stolen her brother from her, no doubt. The twins have come to an understanding, however, and though together they might be one, they have no issues with one or the other finding solace in another. _No secrets_ is the only rule, and the general idea of what happens between Percy and Vax isn’t and never has been a secret.

(The details, however, are still something Vax refuses to share with his sister, no matter how often Vex begs and barters. As far as he’s concerned, his sister can glean all that she needs to know hearing them from across the hall. He has no illusions about his sister sneaking out of earshot- the love life of her brother and the usually-reserved gunslinger is no doubt too juicy a story for her to just ignore.)

His coat comes off first, draped over the back of Vax’s chair. His gloves and boots are next, and, taking a closer look at him, there doesn’t seem to be a single article of clothing he’s wearing that isn’t smudged in some way with soot. Vax wonders how Percy gets the stains out. Goes to Tiberius or Keyleth for magical help, probably. Percy seems like exactly the kind of pretentious type who would.

A careful, gratified sound tears itself from Percy’s throat as Vax smooths his hands over the shoulders of the gunslinger’s silk shirt. It feels expensive under his hands, no doubt alone worth more than most of what Vax wears daily. So long traveling with Vox Machina, and Percy still can’t seem to give up such luxuries. Vax does not fault him for it. There’s no shame in taking what pleasure is possible in the small things.

Percy doesn’t move as Vax folds his shirt and places it on the desk. His eyes are on the wood panelling of the wall, so cautiously empty that Vax is half concerned for the gunslinger’s state of mind. Half of him wants to just tuck Percy into bed and curl up next to his warmth, urging him to rest.

Folding Percy’s pants with the same patient purpose, the other half of Vax concedes that gentle will do jack shit. They’re broken people, Vax’ildan and Percival, fractured and torn, but if for a moment he can make Percy whole, Vax will do this. He knows for a fact that Percy would do the same for him.

“Lay down,” Vax commands, and Percy obeys. His motions are jerky unsure, but he sighs and readily relaxes into the soft sheets. There’s still tension there, but it’s significantly lessened. He sighs again as Vax rubs his hands carefully up and down his back, shivering like a cat. Vax keeps general use oil in his bedside table, among other things, and he supposes that it will work well enough as massage oil.

Vax knows by memory and training the names and uses of every muscle he runs his hands over. He knows how and where to press to disable, to paralyze, to kill if he so chooses. He also knows just how to press to ease tension away, to work out the knots and twists and aches. It takes time, of course, and great, careful effort, but it is well worth it to finally see Percy completely relaxed.

Completely trusting. Percy moans when Vax sinks teeth into the meat of his shoulder. The taste of the oil isn’t pleasant, but Vax laves his tongue over the mark, soothing it, until he can taste Percy’s skin. Another mark, and then another, carefully, until Percy starts to squirm.

“Stay still, Percival,” Vax warns, nuzzling into the nape of his human’s neck. “You trust me to take care of you, right?”

Percy goes still again, relaxed, and he sighs out a _yes_ into the pillow. His fingers twitch, craving to touch. Vax runs fingers over the lines of the gunslinger’s battle-worn palms. It makes him smile, somewhat darkly, Percy’s willing, desperate obedience. His body will resist, still, for a time. Vax is patient, though, and Vax is determined.

“Turn over,” Vax says, and Percy obeys. “Eyes on me,” Vax says, and this time there is some hesitance. He wants to obey- _oh, does he want to obey-_ but Percy’s pride is a fierce thing, not easily subdued. “Percy, Percy,” Vax cooes. Percy’s face is stubble-rough when Vax rubs his cheek against it. “My perfect boy. My beautiful boy. You will be good for me, right? You want to be good?”

He nods, eagerly, eyes bright with _want_. And Vax could never deny him anything. He knows that. Intimately. There’s nothing that Vax wouldn’t do to please Percy, to make him happy, to bring him peace. They kiss, and Percy’s lips are soft and pliant, opening willingly under Vax’s gentle coaxing. His hands skip down his gunslinger’s sides, settling on the careful tapper of his waist. Percy whines, hips jerking ever slightly against the pressure.

“Be good for me, dearest,” Vax mutters, teeth scraping the sharp of Percy’s jaw. “You’ll be good, right? For me? No touching, alright? Not until I tell you.”

The whine that escapes Percy’s throat makes Vax want to do horrible things. Horrible, horrible things. He digs the more bottle of more viscous oil out of the bedside table, out from where he’s accidentally buried it beneath a few books and piles of paper. Percy’s eyes go wide at the sight, chest heaving as his breath picks up, pupils blown out. Vax has to suppress a shiver under such a gaze.

(It’s the same look Percy gives him in the heat of combat, when Vax guts a creature and emerges a figure through the gore. There’s something dark in the gunslinger, something sharp and animalistic. Vax knows that. He’s always known that. And he loves his gunslinger nonetheless.)

Vax rubs a single finger against Percy’s entrance, careful, slow circles, reveling in the way the gunslinger’s breath hitches. One finger first, gently, almost more than Percy can stand. The bed creaks ominously as Percy’s back arcs sharply, almost cracking under the strain. Another finger, and Vax’s name spills off Percy’s lips. Desperate, lyrical, and Vax can barely contain himself at the sound.

“Deities _, Percy.”_

Percy whines high in his throat, back arching beneath Vax’s hands. His knuckles are white in the sheets as he fights to obey Vax’s no-touching rule. It’s almost painfully difficult at this point, and he _aches_ with the desire to come, but he won’t. Not yet. Not first.

There’s another ominous creak of the bed as Vax twists his fingers just _there_ , sending Percy crying out. The gunslinger is so rarely loud. He’s normally controlled, contained, always, _always_ composed. But here, in Vax’s bedroom in the keep, there’s no need to hide. There are so few who can hear them, and fewer still to tease them about the noises that might bleed through the heavy stone walls. Vax doesn’t hold back, not here, hasn’t ever. It’s taken longer for Percy to reconcile himself with the fact that he doesn’t have to either.

Soon, they will leave Greyskull Keep for yet another destination. For now, however, nothing else exists but the two of them. Percy wears a collar made by Vax’s teeth, dark purple bruises that stretch around his collarbone and up and down his neck. Marked- not permanently, but certainly willingly, and he’s marked Vax in return. They will linger for days still, maybe even weeks, reminders they can press their fingers against any time they are apart. The marks look dark against the gunslinger’s pale skin. Vax runs his fingers over them, smiles at the huff it brings from Percy’s chest.

Debauched is a good look on the gunslinger, Vax decides, stroking a hand down Percy’s heaving flank. Another finger has Percy’s voice cracking down the middle. The sweat sheen makes his skin glow in the candlelight, beautiful, graceful, lean muscle and sharp lines. Vax scrapes his teeth against the crest of Percy’s hip, noses against the happy trail of dark hair- so starkly different from the shock of white hair that adorns Percy’s head. The human’s smells of soap and musk, underlaid always by the smoke and steel. He wants to taste, consume, devour, leave nothing but dust and bone behind. He wants everything that Percy has to offer and more.

(His trust, his body, his mind- Vax cradles them in his hands, tucks them against his chest as close as his knives. They are his most precious treasures he will share not even with his sister.)

“Vax,” Percy begs, high and needy, voice rough and hoarse. “ _Vax’ildan_ , please. I need you, I need-”

“ _You have me_ ,” Vax promises, elvish spilling over his lips unbidden. “ _All of me. All that I am. Yours_.”

Percy wails out his pleasure as he comes, untouched, as Vax enters him, hands snapping from the sheets to cling to the half-elf’s shoulders with bruising strength. The mantra that falls from his lips is a chorus of Vax’s name and desperate pleads. Vax grits his teeth against the fluttering heat, against the growing pressure in his gut. One careful thrust, and then another, harder, and once more, and Vax is spilling inside his gunslinger with a guttural groan.

They kiss, and it’s something hungry, something fierce. It’s a confession, a laying bare of souls and hearts. There’s a certain vulnerability there, too, something neither of them would indulge in anywhere beyond these walls. Percy presses his face into Vax’s hair, whimpering as Vax pulls out. The gunslinger is marked, stained, no doubt more than a bit sore (or, at least, will be in the morning), but the smile on his face his blissful and soft. The look in his eyes is resolutely _here_.

(“ _You were good for me_ ,” Vax murmurs, thick, heavy words of his mother tongue against the hollow of Percy’s throat. “ _So good. Such a good boy. Beautiful boy._ ”)

It’s no trouble to clean them both up with the rag and water from the basin. Percy helps as best he can (which is to say, with his lax, half-responding limbs, not at all). The lull lets Vax take as much time as he needs to carefully examine bites and bruises, to ensure no damage requires the immediate eyes of a healer. It never does, of course, but Vax always wants to be certain. Only then does he toss the rag back in the water (he can deal with that in the morning) and crawl onto the sheets beside his gunslinger.

He never asks. He _never_ asks. What’s wrong. What happened. It’s something they agreed upon unspoken at the start of all of this, the first time Percival stumbled into his room with blood on his hands and that blank look in his eyes, begging for someone to take him out of his head for a while. Never ask, never tell, never love. _Belonging_ , certainly, but never, _ever_ love.

But Percy sleeps curled against Vax’s chest, breath long and slow, and Vax wants to ask, wants to tell, wants to _love_ . He wants and wants and wants, to have and keep and hold. To be _Percy’s_ , heart, body, and mind. He wants so badly that his heart hurts with it, constricting every breath like iron around his lungs.

Instead, he draws Percy as close as possible, buries his face in that soft white hair. He will be too warm in the morning, certainly, but it will be worth it for the closeness. He draws a finger over the marks he has left on Percy’s skin, runs a hand over the gifts Percy has gifted in return.

(In the morning, Vax will run his tongue over every bruise, every bitten blotch. In the morning, Percy will worship Vax like any devotee would a god, pressing his hands against the bruises in the half-elf’s flesh. He will give and give and take and take and Vax will let him. Always.)

Soon, they will leave Greyskull Keep for yet another destination.

For now, however, nothing else exists but the two of them.


End file.
